Celtic Blizzard

by Ria Cantrell

  Bronwyn’s eyes lit up at the mention of her harp. It was the one thing that gave her peace when thoughts troubled her. “It was my mother’s. I have been playin’ for more years than I can remember, aye even more than I can actually remember her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sinead said thoughtfully.

  Bronwyn gave a slight shrug and she said, “I was just a wee bairn when my ma’ passed. I try to remember her, but mostly, I just think what I remember are things I have conjured in my mind.”

  Sinead looked at this beautiful young woman and she could see the resemblance to the brothers that she had already met; especially to the one named Ruiri. Her eyes were a soft amber color. Jamie’s eyes were more like a warm cup of cocoa, but their family traits were similar. Sinead was glad that Bronwyn was not overly petite, because her gowns seemed to fit Sinead perfectly. Sinead said, “Go ahead and play some more. I am happy to listen.”

  “Ach, I can play anytime. I’d much rather talk.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s good to have someone to converse with.”

  “Have ye’ nay been tended well?”

  “Oh, yes. Very well. It’s just that like you, there is only Morag. I feel as if I am in the way a bit and everyone here is so busy, I am just trying to stay out from under foot.”

  “Busy? Are they nay busy where ye’ live? I thought the MacDougals have as big a keep as we do?”

  “So you know I am a MacDougal.”

  Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “They may be busy, but they love to gossip.”

  “My surname is MacDougal, but I am not part of your enemy’s clan.”

  “They are nay our enemies, exactly. They raid our lands and then we raid theirs. T’is just been the way of things fer’ as long as I can remember. I think they rather enjoy being at odds with each other. T’is nay a blood feud, if that’s what ye’ve been thinkin’.” She sighed, “Sometimes I get tired of men and their silly wars. I have nay love for it. T’is why I believe that t’was nay the MacDougal that sought to murder my brothers.”

  “Was that part of the gossip, too?”

  Bronwyn gave a little laugh. “Nay. Sometimes my brothers forget I am nearby and they talk. I listen. Mind ye’ I dunna’ eavesdrop. Well, mostly I dinnae, but if they dunna’ school their chats, t’is nay fault of mine if I hear. Besides, t’is good that they forget I am about. I am the laird’s daughter and one day I will be charged with the runnin’ of a keep of my own. T’is important I know what is afoot with my clan.”

  Sinead nodded. “Are you betrothed?”

  Bronwyn giggled, “Nay, praise the Saints. I have thwarted most of the suitors that have called and bless my da’, he has indulged me so far. Though I do nay think he would force me, I suppose the day will come when he will strongly persuade me.” Bronwyn did not want to think about the reason she had passed on many marriage prospects. Long ago she had been given a chance to see who her intended was in a dream. He was handsome, but he was English. Bronwyn would never allow an Englishman to be close enough to her family to do them harm. She was actually relieved when Jamie’s woman had admitted she was not English because she hoped they could be friends. Bronwyn knew that she could never be friends with anyone English! Nor would she marry one, despite the visions granted her in her dream.

  Sinead smiled. With all the talk of ancients and guardians and old ways from Morag, Sinead wondered if they also followed Christianity. It would appear that the Lady Bronwyn was a Christian among the pagans and that thought almost made Sinead laugh out loud. Bronwyn smiled at Jamie’s woman and said, “Did I say something funny?”

  “Oh, forgive me, no. It’s just that Morag well, how can I say this? Uhm, well she speaks of the Guardians. Jamie mentioned them, too and you just said.…”

  “Ach, I know. Heathens, the lot of them. Morag tries to have me follow her path, but t’is old fashioned and I am not sure I share in the gifts that tie many of my clan to the Ancients.” This was said even when she had just been thinking of the premonition granted through a dream long ago.

  In light of the “gift” Sinead only recently learned she had, she totally understood Bronwyn’s resistance to it. Something about this tenacious young woman made Sinead suddenly quite certain that they were going to be good friends. She asked, “And you don’t believe the same way they do?”

  “T’is not that I dunna’ believe the same way. I suppose Highlanders all have that tie to the past, but I have different ideas. For instance, ye’ asked if I was betrothed. I think that should a woman nay wish to wed, she should nay be punished for it. I am lucky in that my father has yet to force me. But he is a man with many responsibilities and I think that it is sometimes to my benefit that I am not his priority on his grand list of worries and duties. Now, dunna’ think my da’ loves me less than the brothers. Nay, t’isna’ so. He is lenient and kind but mayhap the business of marryin’ me off is nay so important as so many other things he must do.”

  Sinead nodded. Because it was quite common in her world, Sinead asked, “Don’t you want to have a boyfriend?”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “I mean a beau. Sweetheart…you know…a suitor as you have said.”

  A strange look seemed to come into Bronwyn’s eyes as if she was remembering someone special. Perhaps she did have a secret boyfriend or maybe she even did once some time ago. Maybe Sinead was being too forward and the young woman would take offense at the question.

  “There is a man…och, t’is mad really…”

  “Tell me about him. I promise not to betray your secret.”

  “I dunna’ know him. I have seen him…but I dunna’ know him.”

  “And you like him,” Sinead prompted good naturedly.

  “I dunna’ know him. I dunna’ know if I like him but…every time a suitor comes to call, I am reminded of that one and when I realize it is nay he, I put him out. Mayhap, I shall never meet him.” And mayhap that is for the best because despite how I compare them all to him, he will always be English!

  Sinead was confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

  “How could ye’, really. I dunna’ understand it myself. T’is Morag’s fault. Och, I could throttle her for makin’ me see him.”

  “Morag made you see him…like in a vision?”

  Bronwyn nodded. “But I canna’ be with him even if he does appear. He is my true enemy. More than anyone from a rival clan. Part of me curses it to be so and part of me….” her voice drifted off and Sinead understood. In a way, it was similar to her attraction through time to a man referenced on some moldy old pages.

  “Why is he your enemy?”

  As a simmering fire seemed to light in Bronwyn’s eyes, she spat, “Because he is English. I shall ne’er bring a Sassenach to my home and risk the lives of those in my clan. Never!”

  “I—I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Bronwyn met Sinead’s gaze and she said, “I am sorry. That is why, no suitor will be given my consent. If none be the man I had seen and if one is, then none can be for me. I canna’ marry an Englishman. That just canna’ happen.”

  “I understand. I realize that there is much hatred between your country and England.”

  “Hatred? Nay. They wish to destroy all that we hold dear. T’is much further than hatred. If the only man fer’ me is the one shown to me and he is English, then there is none that I can e’er wed.” This time, Bronwyn sounded more sad than angry. Sinead realized again how serious things were in this time. She also realized that despite her protests, it was the one man that Bronwyn had somehow seen through some conjuring, that she truly wanted.

  No wonder the young woman fought the “Old Ways”. They symbolized the destruction she thought would come from the vision she had been shown. Sinead did not know how or if she should even try, but suddenly, she believed in the power of romance. Maybe she had read too many novels, but this was the stuff those stories were made of. Perhaps she could persuade Bronwyn to be open to it, should the mystery man come knockin
g on her big castle doors.

  Bronwyn just sighed, resigning herself again to never marrying if it meant being tied to someone who would harm her family. She had seen his face so many times but she denied it even when Morag asked. She lied to the old woman telling her she had never seen the vision. It had been a long time ago when she was nearly still a child. Morag had taken her up to the ridge one cold night when her childhood had just ebbed and her womanhood flowed. It was an Ancient Rite that Morag seemed so happy to share with her and after Morag’s supplications; Bronwyn settled down into her cloak and dreamed. She dreamed of him; the one. When morning came, she denied the Old One’s claim and swore that nothing had come to her in her sleep. She would never admit it, but somehow she sensed Morag knew she was not telling the truth, though she never let on. Changing the subject, Bronwyn said, “What about ye’? Are ye’ and Jamie….”

  Sinead put her hand up quickly in protest and said vehemently, “No, no, no.” Despite having kissed him, Sinead denied anything between Jamie almost as surely as Bronwyn denied the lover of her vision.

  “Do ye’ nay find my brother handsome?”

  “Oh he is very handsome. Almost too handsome.”

  Bronwyn’s good mood returned and she laughed, “How can a man be too handsome?”

  “Oh, believe me, a man that looks as good as Jamie can ruin a girl for men for the rest of her life. He is what we call gorgeous.”

  “Mm, I understand that word. I suppose I always thought him handsome because he is my brother.”

  “Brother or not, he is unbelievably handsome,” Sinead said, laughing and feeling slightly giddy thinking about just how deliciously good looking Jamie was.

  “Then why do ye’ nay want to wed him? I know he vowed to nay wed, same as I have, but I think his reasons are nay the same as mine. He just has nay found the woman suited fer’ him.”

  “What makes you think I am that woman?”

  Bronwyn laughed again and said, “I dunna’ know. A feeling I guess. Mayhap I am more heathen than I thought.”

  “There are just too many things that stand between Jamie and I,” Sinead said seriously. It was the truth. The obstacles were numerous and Sinead was not sure she could run the gauntlet, so to speak. Hell and damn, now I am started to think in medieval terms. “Besides, I don’t think Jamie likes me very much.”

  “Oh he likes ye’.”

  “And is this something you know or sense?”

  “A bit of both, I suppose. Jamie does nay get so unnerved when it comes to women. I heard him talking with Ruiri. Again, they did not realize I was sitting nearby. He’s quite disturbed by yer’ presence. I love my brother, but he can be quite pigheaded at times. He will state he is nay affected but his heart yearns for a mate. I can tell. I think ye’ would suit my brother perfectly.”

  “But you only just met me.”

  “Hmm, aye, but I can tell. Morag would say, there is a thread that ties ye’. She sees things like that. I just feel them. Old pagan ways are hard to put aside.”

  Chapter 24

  Dubh MacKenzie paced in his fortified hall. He had promised the English emissary an advance towards overtaking the lands that the MacCollum had held, thus ensuring his place among the lords. Long had the MacCollum clan been a thorn in his side as they had been for nearly eight decades to his father and grandfather before him. His father was a weak man, but where his father had failed, Dubh was certain he would not. The blood feud had come about when one of the lesser members of the clan had tried to take some young woman against her will. The man had been killed in the attempt, so it had been told and later, the war had begun only after more had fallen because of that event so long ago. Even the Campbells had gotten into the midst of it. Somehow, that event severed the ties eventually to Campbell so MacCollum had dual enemies to fight. Dubh cared not for the history of it. His only concern was to rout the MacCollum scourge that had ever been a threat to MacKenzie.

  Things had been quiet for some time, while his father had been laird, but Dubh had never forgotten that the MacCollum were always there to remind him of how the MacKenzie would forever be under their watchful eye. Why, less than a year past, he had directed some of his men to take action against the MacCollum, but those fools let their lust deter their course and in the process had gotten themselves killed for their efforts. Those stupid dolts had taken a turn on a MacCollum wench and the Highland Wolf had metered out his own brand of justice to them. Once again the MacKenzie were put in their place. Here, a year later, with Dubh’s own attempt, he had failed once more.

  His plan to take the eldest son had blown up in his face. His men should not have been able to fail when he had given exact orders to set the trap. No prisoners were to be taken and Dubh MacKenzie was going to show the clear message to Caleb MacCollum by sending the head of Jamie, his heir, to him in a basket. The plot had been perfect. Ambush from the high grounds and they could not lose, but they had lost and the cursed MacCollum spawns got away unscathed.

  And the tale his men came back and told him to save them from his punishing wrath! As they had supposedly lain in wait of the riding party, hidden in the bracken coated rise, the snow had begun to fall in earnest and then, just as they were to make good the assassination plot so carefully culled, they said a woman appeared as if by magic, screaming warning to Jamie MacCollum. She had declared the ambush before it had begun and they could not even loose a single arrow before the begets of the MacCollum’s spilled seed retreated. His men swore the unholy Wolf was among them. More than likely his poor excuse for a regiment had seen the Highland Wolf and turned tail, knowing how he had exacted revenge for the woman who had been compromised twelve moons ago.

  “Inept cowards,” Dubh MacKenzie thundered to no one but the walls around him. The plan had been to deliver the blow to Laird Caleb and then offer the lands to the English to secure his place in their take over. Times were troubling and Dubh knew that eventually the English would have all of Scotland. He wanted to assure that he sided with the blasted English before the Highlands were turned to ash. He would call his favors after the surrender was complete. That was, if the English honored their promise to those who set their hands at treachery to Scotland’s own.

  His future was crumbling and he had to do something to insure his way with those filthy English. He had no great love for them, but one thing Dubh MacKenzie was and that was a survivor. He would do whatever he had to in order to keep what he could. The English army under Edward was too strong. Working a deal with them seemed the only wise thing to do for there was no way Scotland could stay the scourge that was about to befall them. With the death of the MacCollum heir, it would seem easy to overtake the lands so richly coveted by the English and other clans. Now all that had been yet again ruined. All because of a woman! Some magical banshee that had appeared out of the swirling snows!

  Dubh threw down his tankard, splashing its contents on the tapestry beside him. He had seen that his failure of a legion had been punished severely for their incompetence. Those that still lived had been beaten and placed in the holds beneath the belly of his fortress in chains. Those that had not, had been made an example for the rest to ponder by his own sword. The rage that simmered within him afforded him no regrets. Men were expendable. Better to do away with the weaker forces than to have a vulnerable and breachable void in his league of soldiers. MacKenzie had not withstood the many feuds and battles as long as it had from any feebleness of its army and it would not in the future if Dubh had his say in it. Weak links had to be removed, else the entire chain would crumble.

  He paced the length of his chamber again and devised a new plan to thwart and cripple MacCollum, but first he would have to find out who, if she really existed, this woman who had allerted his plot to ambush Jamie MacCollum actually was. Mayhap, he could even use her against him. One thing he knew for certain about all of the MacCollum was that they had a soft spot when it came to the women of their clan. Perhaps, he could even take the daughter, but how? That would be
the challenge. It would suit his purpose to use the daughter as a trap. They would trade one life for the other, of that Dubh was certain, only there would be no trade when all was said and done. There would only be loss and then MacCollum would bend to the demands of MacKenzie and ultimately seal his place within the English Court. Only after they had been brought to their knees would they ever be weak enough to hand over and be ripe for the taking by English forces. Never underestimate one’s enemies, and when it came to MacCollum, Dubh knew that, too.

  Dubh MacKenzie’s hatred for the MacCollums was something that almost was inbred into his soul since he was born. Something about the lifelong feud had wormed its way into his very blood. It was almost as if without that loathing, he would not be able to survive. He was certain that his disdain for the clan, especially for the laird himself, was greater than even that of the Campbell. Dubh knew that there certainly was no love between Campbell and MacCollum these days. Hell, everyone knew about that. The Wolf’s legend had been born those years ago when his harlot had been killed. He had never met the man himself, but the damage done to his clan by Ruiri MacCollum’s sword was felt still to this day. One of the men who he had killed in his vengeance against the men who had taken the MacCollum woman years ago was a cousin and a true son of MacKenzie. Dubh had vowed retribution and now it had roosted within him. He would not rest until he had laid MacCollum low.

  He had indeed underestimated the eldest son. He had thought him to be nothing more than a weakling. It was said he loved sheep more than people and that thought brought a sneering smile to Dubh’s face. He rather enjoyed the perverted image of Jamie MacCollum romantically coupled with a big ugly ewe. The image should have turned his stomach, but such things did not affect the Black MacKenzie, as he was sometimes called. Besides, he thought of the MacCollum more as animals anyway. Animals had to be dealt with in certain ways. Either they had to be chained or they had to be slaughtered. Dubh preferred the latter, but he would enjoy the former, if it were to arise and if he had his way, he would see them all fettered before he went in for the kill.